


Penny for Your Thoughts

by ShfiftyFive



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista Clarke, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, One Shot, Pining Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShfiftyFive/pseuds/ShfiftyFive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time, Bellamy drops his change in without thinking about it too much. One jar says Cats, the other says Dogs and he picks dogs because, who doesn't like dogs? It's not that he doesn't like cats. They're fine. He just hates carrying change and dogs seem like a safe bet. Also, the barista is cute and blonde and, apparently, a cat person. </p><p>"Hm," She hums, eyebrows arched and lips pursed. </p><p>It's 7 am, he hasn't had his coffee, and he is about to TA an undergrad History 3A discussion. So he isn't completely surprised when he hears himself snarling that cats are selfish asshole tyrants. A thought he's never actually had, but feels applies to the barista holding his coffee hostage until he agrees that cats are better.</p><p>---</p><p>Or the coffee shop AU where the tip jars and the cute barista are causing problems for Bellamy Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penny for Your Thoughts

The first time, Bellamy drops his change in without thinking about it too much. One jar says Cats, the other says Dogs and he picks dogs because, who doesn't like dogs? It's not that he doesn't like cats. They're fine. He just hates carrying change and dogs seem like a safe bet. Also, the barista is cute and blonde and, apparently, a cat person.

"Hm," She hums, eyebrows arched and lips pursed.

It's 7 am, he hasn't had his coffee, and he is about to TA an undergrad History 3A discussion. So he isn't completely surprised when he hears himself snarling that cats are selfish asshole tyrants. A thought he's never actually had, but feels applies to the barista holding his coffee hostage until he agrees that cats are better.

It isn't until he sits down at the head of the long discussion table, ten minutes late thanks to "Clarke," that he notices the drawing of a cat on his coffee cup. It's licking its butt.

\-----

Bellamy avoids going back to Grounders for a whole week before the campus coffee shop announces it's closing for renovations. He drags his feet the fifteen minute walk, praying to the coffee gods for a sane dog person.

No such luck.

"I'm suppose to apologize to you," Clarke blurts as he reaches the front of the line.

"Is that suppose to be the apology?" He asks gruffly, fishing out his wallet.

"I said I'm suppose to apologize. But I'm not a morning person and bantering with customers is kind of the only thing that keeps me sane," She scrunches her nose.

He rolls his eyes. It's not that he won't accept her apology, but she hasn't actually apologized.

"Yeah, well I hear coffee can help with that," he says as she hands him his change. She gives his cup to the barista behind the bar. He's close to Clarke's age, lanky with dark hair. He's also watching their exchange closely as he fills the cup.

The tip jars are new. Well, the jars are the same, but the labels are different. One says Team Cap, the other Team Iron Man. He recognizes the drawings beneath each as Clarke's handiwork. He also notices that Cap is surrounded by happy faces and stuffed with cash and Bellamy is feeling contrary. He smiles broadly as he pours his change into the nearly empty Iron Man jar.

Twenty minutes later, Bellamy leaves Grounders with Clarke yelling about Ultron and Bucky. The other barista, Monty, is knocking his forehead against the counter because their customers have stopped to watch Clarke's rant.

"Sorry Princess, Team Tony all the way," he shouts, taking a smug sip of his hot coffee as the shop door swings closed behind him.

\-----

Things continue much the same way throughout the campus' remodel. And then they continue afterwards because, well, Bellamy doesn't like to think about it too much. All he knows is that he is still going to Grounders each morning and sometimes Clarke smiles when she thinks he isn't looking and sometimes Bellamy thinks they might find some common ground.

Then again, sometimes real life gets in the way of progress.

It's the most Monday Monday to ever Monday and neither of them is giving an inch. It's finals week, something is eating at both of them, and It's insane--not to mention wasteful--to sleep with all your covers AND the air conditioning on blast.

"Let me guess, you were a debate team nerd." he mutters shoving money across the register.

"Let me guess, you had a stereotypical problem with authority growing up?" she slams his change down on the counter.

"Something like that," he stuffs his coins in the "no covers" jar. Octavia just announced she is moving away early for a summer program at her college two states away, but that's not the sort of thing you share with your barista.

\-----

At some point, Grounders becomes an obsession. That is, according to Octavia who officially doesn't live with him anymore, but still seems to hear more about the blonde barista than about Bellamy's actual friends. Which is really just Miller and Murphy, but still. Even they are starting to think the whole Grounders thing is odd.

He drags Miller there for the first time before their weekend pick-up game. It's Saturday and Saturday is new tip jar day. Miller points out that Bellamy spends an inappropriate amount of time considering the jars and Bellamy does his best to ignore him.

"It all goes to the same place, just put the damn change in a damn jar."

"That's not the point," he whispers. "She thinks she knows me, she thinks she knows what I'm going to pick."

"Fine then, don't leave a tip."

"..."

"Okay. Go with your gut instinct."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because that's what she wants me to do. That way, I'm unprepared," Bellamy says, nodding his head at Clarke who is practically seething behind the counter

"Listen to your friend before you lose the only one you have," she says, her pen digging into the side of his cup.

When he picks the cup up from the bar, Miller throws back his head with laughter. There's an uncanny drawing of an elderly Bellamy, fist in the air, yelling at a cloud.

"Cute," mutters Bellamy.

\-----

"So this tipping thing. It's like foreplay or something?" asks Miller. Bellamy tears his eyes from Clarke who is laughing at something a customer is saying.

"What? No!" he sputters. Miller rolls his eyes. "It's a matter of principle." he mumbles as he slides down into his chair. They'er at what has become their regular table. A fact he has made Miller swear will never get back to Octavia.

"Whatever. You keep being the weirdo regular. I'm going to talk to the cute barista."

\-----

Clarke's post-breakup hair rebellion: purple streak or red streak?

Bellamy splits his change between the two jars.

"You can't put money in both," she says, more tired than usual.

"Why not? They'd both look cool," he says. Break ups suck and he isn't cruel.

"Well, what if there's a tie. What do I do then?" she says and then considers him for a moment. "Also, I kind of want to know what you think."

He raises his eyebrow and is surprised when her cheeks flush. She's too busy looking down and scribbling his name to notice his open stare.

"You know, so I can do that opposite."

He can't help but smile at that. He very deliberately puts another quarter in the purple jar.

She shows up the next week with red tips.

\-----

Then, somehow, they stop arguing. They banter, but it's friendly. He learns she actually does have a cat, Tellulah, and he tells her about Octavia who is coming home for Thanksgiving break.

His first impression was that she was a bit of a mess, but it was working for her. Now it's working for him.

And then suddenly it's working too well.

A curl falls from her messy bun and he wants nothing more than to tuck it behind her ear. There are doodles all up her arm and his fingers twitch, imagining tracing each one until the ink disappears beneath her sleeves.

It was one thing to think she's cute while they're arguing and there's a counter safely between them. It's another now that he thinks she's beautiful and she's coming by his table during lulls in the day so she can tease him about his boring thesis topic.

Now there are other feelings. And recognizing those other feelings make the friendly banter a lot harder. Because he doesn't want to just banter with her.

Somehow he has gotten himself into coffee shop turf war with the one person he really, really wants to make out with. And hold hands with. And, yeah, argue with, but in a playful fun way that leads to more kissing. Not weird drawings on his coffee cup. Hilarious drawings, but weird and difficult to explain to his undergrad students who don't understand: he is an incompetent, passive-aggressive flirter with a major thing for the barista down the street.

Okay, so he secretly loves the drawings. But they would be infinitely improved it they were followed by kissing.

So Bellamy tries to be nice and the easy banter comes to a an abrupt halt.

He panics, throw his change in the jar for Country Music, and panics even more. His phone is filled with punk rock and he doesn't have an argument for country, but his brain can only handle so much when he's trying so hard to get through this. And right now that one thing is getting through this transaction without blurting out that he's probably falling in love with her.

It's in that moment that Bellamy realizes he doesn't have a plan other than to not argue. He ignores her bait about square dancing and hog tying. Instead, he gives her a large, warm smile and tells her to tell Tellulah, hi.

He's pretty sure he's messed it all up, slumped down against the wall outside Grounders, when Miller catches up with him.

"What are you so bummed about?" he says, pointing to Bellamy's cup. "Did Clarke give you a prank phone number or something?"

Bellamy looks at his cup and smiles softly. There's a row of digits and, below that, a message.

"In case you remember your argument for why country could possibly be better than rock."

Maybe this is progress.

\-----

Progress is slow, but kind of awesome. Clarke starts asking him for ideas for the tip jars and she texts Bellamy when someone makes the wrong choice. He finds that suddenly they agree a lot more, at least when it comes to other people's dumb opinions.

Octavia comes back for Christmas break and frog marches him to Grounders the first morning she's home. She's not a morning person, but suddenly she needs coffee because, "Uh duh, I'm a college student now, Bell." He reminds her that college students don't usually wake up before 11 am on Saturday mornings and he steers her away from the register when she's starts to probe Clarke for personal information.

Clarke watches the siblings with a soft smile. From that day on, his cup has Bell written in neat handwriting.

\-----

The spring semester starts and Bellamy takes the train to Boston for a week-long conference. He realizes dully that it's the longest he's been without going to Grounders since the school year began.

The conference is long, too long, filled with networking, lectures, networking, a dramatic scuffle over reclassifying an obscure Roman era, and more networking.

He spends a lot of it texting Octavia descriptions of the most boring academics sitting in his row ("Peas. This man is snacking on peas, O.") To which she responds, "New number, who's this? Text your girlfriend."

Which leads him to think about Clarke. Who, really, he was thinking about too much, hence the texts to O. Because it turns out, boring lectures give you too much time to think which is leading him to think about what an idiot he's been.

He's an adult who is acting like a school kid with a crush. Correction, an immature school kid without any idea how to act around a person they like without insulting them.

He's an adult. He's an adult who goes to conferences. He can tell the girl he likes that he likes her and he can deal with the consequences if she doesn't feel the same way.

The last day of the conference turns out to be just networking and he gets approval from his adviser to head back a day early.

He's checking out of the hotel when gets a text from Clarke.

**hey**

It's embarrassing, the way his breath hitches in his chest.

**there's a tie with the jars this week**

**so, hawaii or paris**

_hawaii_

_fuck land once occupied by the holy roman empire_

**ha**

**okay, hawaii it is**

He sees the three dots and waits for another text, but nothing comes through. He considers texting back, but "I miss you" doesn't seem appropriate and really there's nothing else he can think to say.

Sighing, he returns his phone to his wrinkled slacks and rolls his bag toward the taxi line.

\----

The next morning, Bellamy wakes up to an empty kitchen, aka the perfect excuse to visit Grounders bright and early. He slips on his jeans, his favorite dark blue shirt, and glasses because fuck Saturday mornings. He even takes a few minutes to try and tame his curls into something presentable before giving up and heading out the door.

"What are you doing here?" Clarke asks as he walks up to the register. She is stuffing something into her apron pocket, her face and neck are lightly flushed. The stubborn curl has fallen from her bun and she shoves it back behind her ear. It immediately falls back in her face.

"Getting coffee," he says, feeling a bit stupid. He tugs at his own hair nervously. "I got back early and didn't have coffee at my place. So now I'm here. You do still sell coffee, right?"

He tries to say it jokingly, but he can hear the uncertainty in his voice. It's only been a week. It's not like that much can have changed.

Clarke offers a strained smile, nods her head once, and grabs a cup from the stack beside the register. Monty walks in from the backroom and immediately spins back around, pushing his way through the swinging door.

"Is everything okay?" Bellamy asks, he touches her hand lightly and Clarke jolts in surprise, but doesn't pull away.

Her face softens and she stares at his hand, his freckles leading down his arm to the gentle press of his thumb against her wrist. She bites at her lip before looking up at him.

"Yeah, sorry, it's just been a weird morning."

"No need to apologize," Bellamy smiles, feeling a bit more on even ground, but not willing to push. Maybe this is all they were meant to be.

"So, I'm glad to hear the great Hawaii versus Paris debate was resolved," Bellamy tries, looking for a safe topic. "Speaking of..."

He looks down at the tip jars. One says "Clarke" and the other says "Bellamy." The scrawl isn't Clarke's usual rounded handwriting, but the spiky scratches are oddly familiar.

"What is this?" he asks.

Clarke shrugs, the flush rising to her ears.

"Miller and Monty sort of..." she gestures at the jars, "took over this week."

Bellamy takes his change and considers the jars for a moment. He is definitely missing something. Maybe if he were better with words he could ask. Hell, if he were good with words he wouldn't have spent three months arguing with the cute barista he is head over heels in love with.

Instead, Bellamy decides words are shit. He looks at Clarke, reaches out without thinking, and gently tucks the stubborn curl back behind her ear. He pours his change in the jar marked Clarke and tries to smile, but it comes out funny, twisted by nerves and a sudden shyness. He holds her gaze for a moment longer before looking down and away.

Coffee in hand, Bellamy sits at his usual table by the window and drops his head. At some point in the past week, he hadconvinced himself that he and Clarke could become something more. Now he's the weird regular who doesn't understand personal space.

He drags his hand down his face and fishes his phone out of his pocket when it vibrates. Miller's name flashes across the screen.

**hey man, heard you got back early**

_yeah, I was about to text you_

_I'm at grounders_

_how'd you know I'm back?_

**monty**

**wait, you're still there?**

Bellamy watches the three dots appear and disappear and then nothing.

Why _is_ he still there? He has laundry to do, groceries to buy, a real life he should be living. He shakes his head again, about to stand, when a pale hand slams down on the table in front him. It's pressing a piece of paper against the worn table top.

Bellamy's eyes follow the hand to the doodle-covered arm and to the agitated woman they're attached to. Clarke is staring at a spot on the table just in front of him, biting her bottom lip.

"This was on the tip jars this morning," she says, finally. She lifts her hand to reveal, what he now recognizes as Miller's chicken scratch:

"Who is more in denial about their feelings?"

 _Bellamy or Clarke_ , he thinks back to the tip jars as he picks up the paper. He reads it again, not because he doesn't understand what it says, but because he needs a second to think.

"They've been doing a different one each day you were gone because apparently it's entertaining to rile me up and also super effective," Clarke says slowly. He can feel her gaze shift from the table to him.

"Is it now?" He says lightly, placing the paper back on the table.

"Well, we got more tips this week than any other week since I've been here, so it's not like we're bad for business," she said, mouth quirked. Suddenly they are a we. "People are invested."

 _In us_ , he thinks.

"So what were the other questions?" He straightens up, curious, but afraid to push too hard. Clarke relaxes a moment, sliding in to the chair adjacent to him. He feels a smile tug at his mouth. It was the right choice.

"Well, it started with who would ask out the other first. Then there was who would initiate the first kiss, who would pay on the first date, who would name their kid Tiberius..."

Bellamy snorts at that.

"I bet I can guess who won that one."

"Yeah, I think that was Octavia's contribution," she says, laughing at his expression.

"Wow, you weren't lying. People are invested." Suddenly he remembers. "Who would pick Hawaii..."

"Who would pick Hawaii over Paris for the honeymoon," she says, some of the familiar spark returns to her eyes as she sits up and leans forward. "You left me with them planning our imaginary wedding and arguing with customers about whether we seemed like beach people. Also, you could have told me you were coming home early when I texted you about that."

"What, and miss out on all this fun?" he scoffs. There's the familiar glint in her eye, an argument clearly at the tip of her tongue. He rests his elbows on the table and leans forward, cutting her off with a quiet murmur. "How else was I suppose to know who initiates our first kiss?"

The words are barely out when Clarke's surges up to meet his lips, the soft press silencing him. He reaches for her hand and winds their fingers together in his lap. Clarke's other hand reaches for his curls, tugging him closer as she turns her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping at her lips which open with a soft gasp.

She pulls away slightly, lips red and swollen, mirroring Bellamy's own dazed expression.

"I just want you to know that you picked wrong," Clarke says, slightly breathless. Bellamy feels the words against his lips more than he hears them, amazed by her ability to form words as he waits for her to finish. "This morning you put your change in the Clarke jar, but I'm--i'm not in denial about my feelings."

Bellamy squeezes her hand where their fingers are still intertwined against his thigh. Their breath mingling between them as he nuzzles his nose against her soft cheek.

"Let's call it a tie," he murmurs, recapturing her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://talldecafcappuccino.tumblr.com/), yo


End file.
